Making it Personal

Copyright notice
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
Coming Soon
Titles already available
About the author

Copyright notice
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Editor: S.A.Meade
Cover Designer: Meredith Russell
Copyright © 2013 by K.C. Wells
All Rights Reserved
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: This literary work

may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission. All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental. The Licensed Art Material is being used for illustrative purposes only; any person depicted in the Licensed Art Material, is a model.

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Chapter One
Blake Davis unlocked the main glass door which led into the reception of Trinity Publishing. As usual, he was the first to arrive, although he knew that Ed Fellows wouldn’t be too far behind him: his secondin-command would need his customary caffeine jolt to kick-start his day. He went into the small but wellequipped kitchen serving his floor and mechanically set up the two coffee pots that would be required by his staff. Another grin: how many CEOs did
this
every morning?

With the machines gurgling and the wonderful aroma starting to filter through the kitchen, Blake went to his office. The empty office next door reminded Blake of his lack of a PA, which he hoped to have resolved within the next day. He entered his private washroom and hung his overcoat on a hanger, pausing in front of the mirror.

No sooner had that thought crossed Blake’s mind, another was hot on its heels.
Just give it up, for God’s sake. You
know
he’ll never do it. He’d have to be at death’s door first.
Blake stared resignedly at his reflection in the floor length mirror, his fingers automatically manipulating the dark blue silk tie until it was perfect. He stepped back, casting a critical eye at the overall effect, trying to ignore the thought that had filtered through his brain with annoying regularity during the past two years.
His navy pinstripe suit fit his contours perfectly, the pale blue of his shirt a good color against the pearly skin at the base of his throat. The figure in the mirror was lean, slim-hipped, narrow at the waist, flaring nicely to a broad chest. Short, black hair framed a clear, creamy complexion, which brought out the startling Mediterranean blue of Blake’s eyes, so blue in fact people often thought mistakenly that he wore contacts.
One last look in the mirror. Funny: he didn’t feel any older. Those azure eyes stared back at him and Blake smiled tiredly.
“Happy 30
^th
Birthday,” he whispered to his reflection. His ritual thought prodded him once more, prompting a brief swell of hope within his chest, but cynicism won out.
Not a fucking chance
.

He puffed out a sigh of sheer exasperation and exited the bathroom. Tossing his morning newspaper onto the sofa by the window, Blake gazed down at London. It was only 7.30a.m., but already the streets below were steadily filling as people went about the business of getting to work in the cold, still October morning. He leaned on the glass, his eyes unseeing for a moment, his thoughts on his own situation.

“Christ, being thirty ain’t that bad, is it, boss? Thinking of jumpin’ already?”
Blake gave a slight start as Ed’s words broke through his internal meanderings. He smiled at his office manager who was standing in the doorway, his leather biker’s jacket slung over his shoulder.
“Cheeky sod.” He gestured with his head towards the kitchen. “Coffee’s on.”
Ed gave a moan. “’Ave I told ya recently that I love ya, boss?”
Blake laughed. “Just get in that kitchen and pour us both a mug, then get your arse back here. I’ll go through the plans for today.”
Ed briskly nodded and departed in search of his caffeine fix. Blake shook his head, smiling. He loved the effortless banter that always occurred between him and Ed. There was no formality: Blake might well be the CEO, but he interacted with all his staff in the same easy-going manner. Not that his father approved, of course, but then he’d run the company along much more regimented lines.
Just then, his eyes alighted on the portrait behind his desk, and the smile faded. His father stared out from the canvas, face caught in a warm, caring expression. Blake gazed for a minute or two at Justin Davis, the public face of Trinity Publishing, the man who everyone knew as the driving force behind the fastest growing publishing company in Europe. Blake’s jaw tightened.
“He’s gotta let go at some point, Blake.”
Ed’s tone was warm and understanding. Blake looked across at the earnest young man who was watching him anxiously. Blake pressed his lips together.
“Let’s get on with it, shall we?”
Ed nodded once, message received and understood. The two men sat on the sofa, as Blake ran through wayran thrthe details of the day, including the itinerary for the team meeting at 9.00a.m. Ed took notes, Blake smiling inwardly as he watched Ed trying to keep up with Blake’s fast-paced, efficient delivery.
“When does that new PA of yours start?” Ed asked with a hopeful expression.
“Give me a chance,” Blake retorted. “I’m not even interviewing him until tomorrow.” He glanced down and tapped the manila folder on his knee with his index finger. “But if he’s half as good in the flesh as he is on paper, the interview will be merely a formality.”
“Oh, thank God!” exhaled Ed, causing Blake to chuckle. “And I don’t mean to be rude or nothin’, but
please
, boss, can you try and keep this one?” Blake’s eyebrows shot up and Ed laughed. “Oh, come
on
, we’ve all read the exit evaluations from your numerous PAs.”
Blake felt his cheeks heat up. “It wasn’t
all
my fault,” he declared, stubbornly.
Ed chuckled. “Boss, they all said the same thing: you’re a bleedin’ tyrant.” He grinned at Blake’s expression. “Okay, so they didn’t actually
say
that,” he acknowledged grudgingly, if amused, “but the general consensus was that you expected a hell of a lot from ’em.” Ed’s tone became sincere. “Maybe you’ve got the right idea, gettin’ yerself a male PA. This one might have more stayin’ power.”
Blake looked down once more at the folder. God, he hoped so.
“Happy Birthday, boss!”
Blake smiled as the chorus greeted him on entering the conference room, his team already assembled around the polished circular beech table, all eyes on him.
“Thanks, guys.” Blake smiled once more, until he caught sight of the remaining empty chair, festooned with balloons, all bearing the number 30. He groaned. “
What
did I say? You
know
I didn’t want this sort of thing.” Everyone laughed, Ed most of all.
Rick grinned.
“Aw, come on, boss, you’re only thirty once.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “So I take it you won’t be out celebrating tonight with the lovely Melissa?”
Blake let out a heartfelt groan. Everyone chuckled. Damn his father. Justin Davis seemed determined to find Blake a girlfriend, and was forever trying to set him up with various socialites who all seemed to come from the same mold; vacuous, empty-headed, obsessed with celebrities, and not a decent conversationalist amongst them. Melissa Richards was the latest, but the most determined. The entire team was aware of the situation and sympathized with Blake wholeheartedly.
What none of them knew, of course, was that Melissa’s determination would get her absolutely nowhere. Not unless she turned out to be a guy in drag.
“This one seems more tenacious than the others,” commented Lizzie, smirking. Blake leveled a hard stare in her direction, but couldn’t quite control twitch of his lips.
“Now listen, you lot,” he began, trying to sound stern. “If she drops by today unannounced—and let’s face it, based on recent events that’s very likely— play nice!” He stared fixedly at his team, spearing them with his gaze. So much for his hard stares: six pairs of eyes met his, all containing varying degrees of amusement. It was bad enough when his father came by without warning. As for Melissa, Blake had tried to drop hints, but they had simply sailed over her head.
“Enough chat, people,” Blake announced firmly. “Letced y. “Ls get started.”
The atmosphere changed instantly, as each member of the team delivered their updates on the latest authors and contracts. October seemed to be a bumper month for submissions, and Blake was going to have his work cut out for him in the weeks that followed. His approach was very much handson, and he tried to skim through at least twenty fiction submissions a week, which usually meant several late nights spent on his laptop, picking at a meal. He sighed internally: one of these days he
really
needed to get himself a life.
He looked around the desk at the team of five people, all of whom he’d employed when he’d come into the company at the tender age of twenty-four. His father’s team had all born the same distinguishing marks: fifty-plus, no sense of humor, staid, and with no vision. It hadn’t taken Blake long to see that drastic changes had to be made. And they were a damn fine bunch. Blake had hand-picked them all. Each person had their own team and was responsible for the efficiency and success of every person under them. They dealt with every facet of the business, with absolute authority to run things as they saw fit. No one came bitching or whining to Blake, they just got on with it. Blake glowed with pride. Never mind what his father said—these guys walked the walk.
“Earth to Boss, come in, Boss!”
Blake started, his reverie broken by Rick’s amused exclamation. He gave Rick a mock stern glance, but the tousled-haired young man simply grinned at him, and finally Blake had to grin back. “Sorry,” he apologized.
Peter smiled and winked at the rest of the team. “’S okay, boss, you have to expect these lapses of concentration—at your age.” His eyes gleamed with mischief as the laughter broke out. They all knew Peter was older than the rest of them.
“Right, that’s it.” Blake stood up abruptly. “Are we all done?” Nods from around the table. “Then off to work, people.” He clapped his hands together briskly. Chairs were pushed back and one by one his team filed out of the conference room, until only he and Ed remained. Ed was staring at him, deep in thought. “Something wrong, Ed?”
Ed hesitated for a second, and then shook his head.
Blake arched his brows. “Come on, you clearly have something on your mind.”
Ed lowered his gaze to the table for a second or two, and then met Blake’s inquisitive look. He took a deep breath, obviously uncomfortable. Blake was immediately intrigued.
“’As... ’as yer Dad given ya any indication as to when he’ll finally ’and the reins over to ya?” Blake’s eyebrows shot up. Ed smiled nervously. “It’s just that... we’ve all been talkin’, Blake, and to be honest... this whole situation is just total crap as far as we’re concerned.”
Blake sat back in his chair, slowly running his fingers along the polished surface, not meeting Ed’s gaze. Finally he looked up.
“Close the door,” he said softly. Ed hurriedly complied and then sat down facing Blake, his expression now anxious.
Blake sighed. “What’s this about?” he asked quietly but firmly.
Ed groaned. “I
knew
I shouldn’t have said anythin’.” He exhaled unsteadily. “Blake, since you took over when yer dad had the ’eart attack, you’ve turned this company around. You’ve completely changed the way Trinity does business, and the profits speak for themselves. You’re a great boss to work for, yer staff thinks the sun shines out of your arse,”—Blake chuckled—“and yet as far as everyone out
there
k ws pan>
“So you want to know why I’m running the company, but he’s getting all the plaudits, is that it?”
Ed nodded. “I’m sorry, Blake, but this
stinks
! You’ve worked wonders with this company, but everyone thinks you’re the CEO.”
“I
am
the CEO!” Blake retorted, astonished.
“No, you’re not!” Ed exclaimed, cheeks heating up. “Come on, boss, Justin
gave
you the company six years ago. Said he was stepping down, time to give the younger generation a chance, an’ all that shit.” Blake’s mouth dropped open at this unusual outburst from his manager. “But he didn’t tell anyone
else
that, did he? Fuck, he even kept his ’eart attack quiet. And he ’
asn’t
stepped down. He still waltzes in here, checking up on ya, querying every fuckin’ move ya make… ” Ed inhaled, visibly trying to calm himself. “Blake, why is he doin’ this?”
Blake contemplated his hands on the table, his fingers laced together.
“I think at first he was afraid,” he said at last. “Afraid of what the public would say if they found out that the company was being run by someone just out of college, the ink barely dry on his business and marketing degree.”
“That’s what we all thought, too,” Ed admitted. “But what’s his excuse now? Blake, you’re thirty today. Isn’t it time he acknowledged your achievements with the company? I mean, how could ya just sit there last year when he won the Enterprise of the Year award? On the back of all
your
’ard work?”
Blake stared at Ed. “So what should I have done? Gone to the awards ceremony and told the world they’d given it to the wrong man? And what would that have done to Dad? He’d have been humiliated.” He shook his head. “No, I have to trust that one day he’s going to do the right thing. And yeah, I’d kind of hoped today would be that day.”
Ed was looking at him with such an expression of sympathy that Blake was touched. He gave his manager what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
“But until that day arrives, it’s business as usual, all right? Which means I have a company to run, and sitting here gassing with you won’t achieve that.” He got to his feet, walked over to Ed and patted him fondly on the shoulder. “So let’s get to work, shall we?”
Ed’s eyes met his for a moment. Finally he nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Blake smiled again, more warmly this time. “That’s right, I am.”
So come on, Dad…. Have a little faith in me, why don’t you?
“Good morning, son.”
Blake groaned inwardly as his father strode into the office, no knock to announce his arrival, as usual. He watched as Justin Davis walked up to the desk and started to leaf through the papers which sat there in neat piles.
“Good morning, Dad. Can I help you with something?” Blake tried his utmost to remain calm, but his father tried his patience. He took the contracts from Justin’s hands, noting his father’s quick scowl of annoyance.
Christ, the man just doesn’t learn.
“I didn’t know you were coming here this morning.”
Justin wore an expression of surprise. “Of courim . “Ofse I’m here—it’s your birthday, isn’t it?” Blake had to work hard to keep his face straight. Justin Davis had an appalling track record when it came to remembering birthdays and special occasions. Blake knew for a fact that every year it had been his father’s secretary who’d bought him a birthday card. And as for birthday presents? Books. Or book vouchers. Every year. It was a good thing Blake was a voracious reader.
“Dad, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to see you,” Blake began, a smile pasted on. “But I have a lot of work to do today, and not a lot of time to spend with you.”
Justin’s scowl was back. “Yes, and why do you still not have a PA? At least then, you’d be able to delegate some of the things you’re doing.” His scowl deepened. “And I’m pretty sure that
team
of yours could be doing more. What about that ruffian, Ed something, your so-called office manager? Can’t you delegate more work to him? Though what you see in him, I’ll never know. The man’s as rough as a bear’s arse.” The derisive note in his voice was suddenly too much for Blake to bear, and as for him denigrating Blake’s team….
“I’m on it, Dad. I’m interviewing a candidate for the position tomorrow.” He picked up the folder which contained all the details and brandished it at his father. “Will Parkinson: excellent qualifications, glowing references, seems ambitious—he looks perfect.”
Justin’s jaw dropped. “A man? You’re interviewing for a
male
PA?”
Christ, I
knew
I shouldn’t have said anything.
“Yes, Dad. You got a problem with that?” No sooner had the words left his lips, than Blake knew it was a mistake. Justin Davis bristled, his jaw clenched.
“Far be it from me to tell you how to run things, son…” his father began. Blake stared in frank astonishment.
The man does nothing
but
tell me.
“Then don’t, Dad.” Blake watched as Justin snapped his head up, eyes wide. “I seem to be doing pretty well without your advice, don’t I?” Blake picked up the morning’s newspaper and turned to the financial pages. “We made ink again. Profits are up—again. And the new markets are proving to be a success.” He threw the paper down onto the desk, a gauntlet of sorts—if his father dared to pick it up.
Justin’s lips narrowed. “I can’t deny you’ve turned the company around, Blake.”
Well, that was a first
. “And starting up a department for translating books into other languages, well, it’s not an avenue I ever explored, certainly, but it seems to be paying off.” Justin’s eyes locked onto Blake’s. “But I can’t say I’m happy about this idea of yours of selling these…
male/male
books.” His mouth twisted as he spoke, as though the words themselves left a nasty taste in his mouth.
Blake gave his father a patient smile.
“Have you even looked to see just how much business those books are bringing in? Gay fiction is a huge market, Dad… and it’s a genre that’s growing more popular all the time.” It was clear from Justin’s expression, however, that this argument cut no ice, and for a second, Blake’s gut twisted. If his father felt this way about gay fiction…. Blake waited to see if his father would add anything, but Justin kept silent.